


Calling All Creeps!

by agent_cupcake



Series: Goosebumps [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dubious Consent, F/M, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26964964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_cupcake/pseuds/agent_cupcake
Summary: “What are you supposed to be anyway?”“The name’s Balthus,” he said, winking.“You went as yourself to a costume party?”“What, no, of course not,” Balthus said, almost like he was offended. That eased into another smile right after. “I’m the big bad wolf.”
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Reader
Series: Goosebumps [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967758
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	Calling All Creeps!

Once upon a time.

So many stories started there, didn’t they? Once upon a time, there was a girl. Once upon a time, it was Halloween. Once upon a time, there was a cheating bastard who thought it was okay to showcase his new girl while on a trip with friends.

Once upon a time, you went stumbling away from the bonfire party in search of the cabins you and your friends had rented for the weekend wearing a cape of red velvet from some long-past Renaissance Faire and carrying a flask full of comfort whiskey, your cheap Halloween costume underneath the cape meant to convey some Germanic flavor of dress that you had hoped would entice a certain undeserving fool. 

Well, he could get fucked.

You didn’t care. You were about three jello-shots out from giving a damn about any stupid boys, stumbling down the trail you were pretty sure would take you to your bed. As you made your way through the dark, laying down certainly sounded nice. You could deal with the hangover and everything that had happened in the morning, but not now.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if you’d taken the wrong path. Of-fucking-course. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. From far off, you heard the raucous laughter of the party, of music and conversation, and the scent of burning wood and cheap perfume. If you turned, you could see the smoke of the bonfire trailing up into the cloudy night sky.

Confused, you looked around at the unfamiliar scenery.

You didn’t necessarily think of yourself as a coward, but neither did you enjoy the sensation of isolation that came upon you at that moment. Something more, too, something about the shadows that made the fine hairs on your neck stand on end.

Until a breeze picked up the edges of your cape, bringing with it a peculiar scent. Cigarette smoke. Musky sweat. Cinnamon. You turned your head in anticipation, an utterly reactionary movement of surprise, a tugging that shot straight through your core.

“Hello?” you asked the dark, dread turning in your stomach. And another sensation, one decidedly less unpleasant that felt an awful lot like alcohol-induced thirst.

“You lost, pal?” the dark responded in an amused sort of voice. A voice belonging to a man, it turned out. Your eyes focused on the speaker, a man who sat fallen tree with the shadows of the surrounding woods making him little more than a vague shape, cigarette in hand.

Shock stunned you still. But, oddly, not fear. Were you lost? You’d just followed the trail, hadn’t you? Dizziness made your head spin as you tried to catch your balance. Wearing heels to a party in the middle of the woods was, admittedly, not your smarted choice.

“Maybe,” you called back, looking around to check that he really was alone. Completely. Confusingly. Was he with the party? You couldn’t remember seeing him, or anyone. Still, you forced yourself into a state of courage you didn’t necessarily feel convinced of, approaching him slowly in an attempt to hide the way you swayed on top of your impractical shoes. “It’s a nice night for a walk in the woods, thought I’d take a stroll. I didn’t think anyone else would be lurking around.”

“Hey, I was here first, pal,” the man responded in a pretend show of offense. “If anyone was lurking, it was you.”

You sniffed, pouting. “I don’t lurk.”

“Right,” he said, only a tad patronizingly. Now that you were closer, you could see him more clearly. Big guy, broad-shouldered. He smoked a cigarette with a casual posture, leaning forward on his knees and watching you with a playful half-smile. “You know, you’re an awfully long way away from your friends, Red. These woods are dangerous at night. You never know what kind of creeps might be lurking around. You could really get yourself hurt if you’re not more careful.”

Red? Oh, because of your costume. Little Red Riding Hood, a comfortable cliche for any college girl going for the cute-but-kinda-slutty look. Hearing the nickname from his mouth drew a smile out of you despite yourself. Was that him who smelled so good? So warm?

“Creeps?” you asked playfully, emboldened by the liquor and his playful attitude. A bit of reckless abandon, too. He was cute and you were pretty sure he was flirting with you, or you with him. “Like a strange man who just so happens to be hanging out in the dark?”

“Yeah, exactly!” he responded. You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was oblivious or ignoring your sarcasm but feeling charmed by the obliviousness nonetheless.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, nodding to the overturned tree he sat on.

“Help yourself,” the guy said, flicking ash to the ground with a practiced gesture. “You smoke?”

“Not usually,” you said, happily taking a seat and leaning against the tree behind you, glad for the comforting warmth of your cloak.

“Suit yourself, pal,” he responded, shrugging one shoulder and taking another drag of his cigarette. The end lit up orange, illuminating his face briefly. You didn’t recognize him, you were sure of that. But maybe that wasn’t so surprising. Parties like this were pretty hot for the little college town. The man’s shirtlessness beneath his coat was far more attention-grabbing than the fact that you didn’t recognize him, in any case. He was ripped. Not the slim, casual almost-muscle a lot of guys boasted about, but a flat, hard, rippling washboard of abs. He caught your eye, lips quirking up in a smile.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked to divert the fact that you’d been staring, wondering if it was reckless ego or drunken fever that was going to lead him to catch a cold. Although you couldn’t deny your appreciation for whatever it was, just a little bit.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m practically a furnace. Wanna feel?” The smile he wore was downright roguish, in a goofy kind of way.

Your eyes narrowed, trying to determine what his game was. Then again, you knew you were smiling, too. “I’ll pass,” you said, trying to convince yourself that, no, you didn’t want to feel a stranger’s abs. Well, you did. But not yet. Probably. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“The name’s Balthus,” he said, winking.

“You went as yourself to a costume party?”

“What, no, of course not,” Balthus said, almost like he was offended. That eased into another smile right after. “I’m the big bad wolf.”

“Really?” you asked skeptically. Aside from the fact that his “costume” amounted to a coat, a pair of nicely fitting pants, and lace-up boots, he didn’t seem to be dressed up in any way. Wolves were meant to be hairy, weren’t they? But his chest was smooth. Just that messy lock of hair hanging loose in his face and those sideburns.

“Really, pal,” Balthus said. When he took another drag of the cigarette, his eyes flashed at you. Yellow. Reflective. A chill went down your spine at the unnatural sight. But, just as quickly, you pushed the feeling away with a laugh.

“Nice contacts, although wouldn’t a wolf be furry? Or something?”

“Believe me, you like me better like this,” Balthus said, thankfully not offended. “All that fur ruins my dashing good looks.”

“I find that hard to imagine,” you said before you could stop yourself. He grinned again and for the first time, you noticed how sharp his incisors were. Not like the plastic fangs you’d seen in the mouths of your drunken classmates, but in the naturally sharp way of an animal.

Maybe they were just really convincing fakes. You told yourself that, at least.

“Oh my, grandmother, what sharp teeth you have,” you said, trying to play off the way the sight gave you chills. It was silly. It was Halloween and you were at a costume party. Or, avoiding a costume party. You could still hear them all, but it was far away and dreamy compared to the quiet nook you found yourself in with this handsome stranger.

Balthus laughed, the sound easy and good-natured. But when he spoke, his voice was lowered in a strangely menacing way. “You and your little friends picked a bad night for a party, Red.” Your stomach dropped. The feeling was strange. Excited, but scared. The scent washed over you again, stronger now. Enticing you towards him.

“And why is that?” you asked.

“Haven’t you checked the weather report? It’s a full moon tonight, pal. It does something to people. I bet even you can feel it, yeah? A wildness, a craving for some action, that sort of thing.”

“And here I just thought that was the whiskey,” you said, pulling out and waving your flask. 

“Oh, Little Red Riding Hood brought some goodies I see,” Balthus said happily, his face lighting up. “Care to share?”

“Of course,” you said coyly, taking a mouthful before capping the flask and tossing it over, appreciating the burn in a way you hadn’t before. It was harsh all the way down, fire in your mouth, your throat, your stomach. But it was also comfort. Courage.

It was almost enough to make you forget all your petty grievances.

“Good stuff,” Balthus said after taking a decidedly long drink, taking the liquor like it was water without even the slightest wince. You were eager to blame it on the alcohol, but the way he licked his lips afterward did something to your stomach. As did the casual way he inhaled smoke from his still-burning cigarette, letting it roll from his wet lips and into the cool night air. Even a lifetime of anti-smoking ads couldn’t possibly deter you from admiring the raw sensuality of the act. Or you were just drunk. 

“Are you a local?” you asked, grasping for a change of subject to continue the conversation. “Or are you with the party… I don’t think I remember seeing you.” And you were pretty sure you’d remember a man like him.

Balthus cocked his head, elbows settling on his knees. “Nah. I’m not a big fan of those college bashes. Sure the booze is nice, but it’s not exactly safe for me to be around people tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Those clouds are clearing up,” he said, flicking ash as he looked skyward. “Any minute now.”

“And then what?” you asked.

“Didn’t you hear what I said about the full moon?” Balthus asked you, his head cocking. “She’s a cruel mistress, I’ll give her that.”

“Oh, because you’re the big bad wolf?” you teased, catching on with a grin.

Balthus didn’t return it, his eyes going wide. 

“What? How did you…? Oh! Right, yeah, that!” Balthus said awkwardly. “That’s right.”

You hesitated again, fidgeting. “Should I go?” you asked, unsettled by his poor save. Something was wrong. Maybe. Probably. Or you were just antsy. Being alone with an attractive guy could do that to a person.

“What? Nah. Why don’t you stay here, Red? I’d love the company.”

“You just said that being around people was dangerous tonight.”

“Sure is. I’d just be spoiling for a fight, but there’s other ways to burn off that extra energy.” At best, the way he suggestively wiggled his eyebrows was cheesy. At worst, utterly comical. But the inflection of his voice and the way he leaned into the words were unmistakably seductive. 

“I barely know you,” you said dumbly, unable to come up with something more clever.

“Sure you do. I’m the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood. And you look mighty tasty, little red.”

You wanted to laugh but only managed a breathless giggle. “You’re... corny.”

“But it’s working, isn’t it?” Balthus asked, smug because he already knew the answer. “Look, pal, if you’re not interested, you probably should leave now. I don’t wanna hurt you, but I’m not the greatest when it comes to self control. Especially when the moon is involved.”

A shiver ran through you. That was a red flag. You knew it was, you weren’t a complete idiot, drunk or otherwise. But right then you were entirely certain that you were buying whatever he was selling, no matter how bad of an idea it might have been. “What,” you asked playfully, “would the big bad wolf maul me or something?”

“Hah. You know, you shouldn’t tempt me, Red. I just might.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, leaning forward. His eyes lingered on your cleavage, a smile pulling his lips wide. Those teeth were sharp, but you could practically feel the promise in it. The desire. Being desired was nice. Hot.

“Last chance, pal,” Balthus said, flicking out the butt of his cigarette. There was a genuine warning in his voice, now, despite the grin. It wasn’t seductive. Something cold settled in the whiskey heat of your stomach, burned off by the overwhelming scent of cinnamon musk that the smoke could only do so much to cover.

“Or what?” you asked, your stupid bravado undeterred by the fear.

As if on cue, the clouds broke. It was instantaneous, the way that the clearing lit up with the brilliance of the full moon. It was bright enough to illuminate everything. Everything. From his reflective yellow eyes to the unsettling glint of his inhumanly sharp teeth to exactly how massive Balthus really was.

Christ, he was big.

“Or that, I guess,” he said, casting a glance upwards.

Your last coherent thought had something to do with how tall he was, outclassing you by at least a foot, and with the way his body was coiled with tension as he stood up, the way the tendons stood at sharp attention in his neck and the way shadow pooled in the dent of his collarbones and at each ridge of muscle.

Then you were breathless and confused, pulled upwards and pressed hard between the tree you’d been leaning against and the solid mass of a man you’d been casually talking to only seconds ago. He smelled like smoke and whiskey and cinnamon musk that flooded your mind in a desperately primal way that you couldn’t entirely blame on being drunk or turned on or confused. Undeniably masculine, overwhelmingly so. Your head spun, your attempts at fighting him off perfunctory at best.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, smiling with a face that was all stark shadows and sharp lines. His eyes were bright. Did they even make reflective contacts? They seemed to glow even without light shining on them, such an unnerving yellow gold. 

Whatever question or alarm the sight brought up within you was quelled with the hot press of his mouth on yours. Balthus kissed you and at first, you were too confused to make sense of it, to understand the action that was all hot and heavy lust and tongue and teeth. 

Large, hot hands flipped up your skirt to touch you through the delicate fabric of your panties. They were cute, lacy. Not as if you’d expected to get any, but you’d come prepared anyway. It was the time of year to dress up, after all. At that moment you were so _glad_ because the lace was rough against your sex as he rubbed the fabric, providing a vivid stimulation that momentarily stunned you. Balthus took advantage of the way your lips parted in a moan to deepen the kiss. His mouth tasted like the whiskey and smoke and even more of that cinnamon sweetness and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but return the kiss, knowing your hips were bucking embarrassingly eagerly into his hand but unable to find it within you to care.

What did it matter what you did in the dead of night in the middle of the woods? You were a free woman, right? Balthus made a sound that was almost like a purr and you melted against him fully, tangling your hands in his hair to try and take some control for yourself. The sound of a belt being undone registered, and you turned away from his lips, panting in sharp little bursts. Anticipatory lust swarmed your thoughts, but so did a sudden apprehension. This was crazy, wasn’t it? 

“What are you…”

“Don’t worry about it, Red. I’m not gonna hurt you,” Balthus said, collecting your hands on the opposite side of the tree and binding them together with the belt. The bark scraped your hands, the leather holding fast even when you tried to pull away. Panic raised in your chest, your head, fizzling up and out in a stream of confusion. He pulled out your flask and uncapped it, taking a mouthful before grasping your head and pulling you into another kiss. The whiskey filled your mouth and Balthus offered you no chance to escape or spit it out, clasping his big hand over your lips. “That’s right, pal,” he urged. “I just want you to relax.”

You swallowed and he let up, removing his hand to let you sputter out a few hard breaths. Even with oxygen flooding your brain, your thoughts grew ever hazier, the liquor feeding the heat between your legs, in your gut, in your chest.

Doubt was clouded by the musky sharp scent of his bare skin. So much of it was bare. And hot. Like a furnace he said. Burning you, it felt like.

He pushed your panties aside while you tried to get your bearings, exposing you to the cool night air. Not for long, though. You shifted down a few painful inches —your hands scraping against the tree painfully— as he knelt. A protest came to your lips before he settled your legs on his shoulders, and you understood what he intended.

Oh.

_Oh, fuck_.

“Wait, what are you-”

That stupidly obvious question cut itself off with an unabashed moan when his fingers spread your outer lips so his tongue could delve between. Hot and wet and _good_ , pleasure overrode the pain and confusion as he sweetened the oversensitivity into something bright and tense, feeding the coil of drunken need that had settled itself so firmly between your thighs.

“That’s it, Red. Make as much noise as you want, I doubt anyone will hear us.” He looked up, his eyes shadowed and devious while still managing to be too bright, his smirk absolutely filthy when posed the way it was. “And if they do, be sure to let ‘em know who’s making you feel so good, yeah?”

“Balthus, I-”

“That’s right, pal, nice and loud.” His tongue returned to your clit and your eyes squeezed shut, your thighs closing around his head in a way that must have been suffocating. But Balthus didn’t let up. One large, calloused fingertip prodded at your entrance, pushing in while his tongue swirled maddening patterns against your sensitive flesh. It was good enough to make you see stars, your jaw going slack with a harsh cry you couldn’t contain. He curled the finger as it pulled out and your back arched, uncaring of the way it pulled your shoulders. Balthus was supporting most of your weight, anyway. 

Another finger joined the first. The stretch was aching, sharp, but you found it hard to coherently articulate your discomfort while he was working them so expertly, the rough pads stroking your inner walls and adding the coil of pleasure building so fervently in your core.

“Christ, Balthus, please, I can’t…”

Your shoulders strained painfully, the leather of his belt biting into your wrists. Distantly, very distantly now, you knew that it was a bad sign that your hands were going numb, the bark scraping against them no longer stinging.

Balthus scissored his fingers inside of you, and you _did_ feel that. It wasn’t that your body wasn’t receptive to the touch, but even with as aroused as you were, you had limits.

“Hurts,” you complained, squirming to ease the pressure.

Balthus laughed, his breath hot against your sex. “Sorry, little lady, but you’re gonna thank me for this in a bit. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m not so sure you can handle all of me just yet.”

You shuddered hard. His words were warm and friendly but they sounded an awful lot like a threat.

He continued to scissor his fingers as they thrust in and out of you, his tongue attacking your clit with unrestrained vigor. Your body yielded to his ministrations, not that you had much choice. As you grew used to it, the pain only made the pleasure that much sweeter, the plush velvet of his tongue in such sharp contrast to the roughness of his fingers.

You couldn’t recall the last time anything other than some clever work with your vibrator had made you feel so good, and even that was absolutely dull in comparison to the sensation of Balthus closing his lips around your clit and sucking, thrusting his fingers with such deft experience that you felt overwrought with pleasure, like it was too much for you to handle. But, given no other reprieve, all you could do was moan and beg for more.

Certainly, you called his name when you came. Hard, clamping down around his fingers as your thighs squeezed his head, your numb fingers flexing and digging into the bark behind you while you shook apart, bliss shivering through your body in cinnamon sweet waves. Balthus worked you through it without hesitation, his tongue eagerly lapping around his fingers as if to taste you. You could have sworn you heard him make a sound like a growl, felt it even.

Too soon the few precious moments of pleasure broke off, drunken confusion pulling your mind apart in a different way than the orgasm had. Balthus held you up when he stood, his fingers digging into your thighs as he got you pinned more firmly against the tree so he could undo his pants.

Your head lolled against the tree, excitement and pleasure and dizzied nausea mixing in with his scent, with the sensation of sweat cooling on your flushed skin, with the disorientation of arousal and liquor that kept you so preoccupied.

Balthus’s breathing was heavy and harsh, excited as he lined himself up against you. His eyes were too bright, his teeth too sharp and gleaming in the light, his skin feverish against yours. The big bad wolf.

You blinked, a moment of panic filling you at the unnatural sight.

“Hold still a moment, yeah?” he said, his warm voice easing you back into something almost like comfort. But not quite. “I don’t wanna hurt you too bad.”

Too bad. As in, hurting you was inevitable. Judging by the feeling of the head of his cock at your entrance, you were beginning to understand why he’d felt it necessary to prepare you so thoroughly. That was enough to rouse you further from the strange stupor, self-preservation that no amount of alcohol or lust could completely soothe kicking in.

“W-wait,” you said, pulling to try and free your hands once more. Pointlessly. 

“Having second thoughts?” Balthus teased.

“I… I don’t know...” you said. Yes. Or… maybe not. Your body was pulsing and eager for his, painfully turned on. The thought of being without was nearly as frightening as the thought of what was to come.

“Just relax, pal,” he said. Again, almost like a hypnotic purr. 

He began to push forwards, keeping your legs hiked up around his hips. Balthus let out a hiss as he entered you, and you couldn’t stifle a yelp. Even though you could feel his strain to be gentle and take it slow, the stretch was intense, the pinching ache getting worse with each little thrust. Balthus worked in increments, which was either mercy or cruelty. It allowed you to feel the breach with vivid acuity after each pass, but it also gave you some time to adjust before taking more. You whined like a wounded animal, yielding to him even as you struggled to find the words to ask him to stop. Or slow down. Or to pull out because you were pretty sure he was ripping you apart and you couldn’t take any more of it you’d just split apart if he kept on-

“There,” Balthus said with a grunt as he bottomed out, bumping against your cervix in a way that made you squeal. It was an embarrassing sound that he just laughed off, his chest rumbling with it against you. “Damn. You’re tight, Red. Thought college girls were more liberated than this.”

“What’s... that s’posed... to mean?” you gasped out between shallow breaths, trying to sound offended. Tough.

Of course, that unraveled quickly when he pulled out to shallowly thrust back in. Your whimper was more pleasured than pained, a completely bodily reaction. Balthus groaned; a low sound that reverberated through his chest, down to your bones. There was nowhere to go to escape from him, from the fever heat of his skin or the way he had you pinned or the oppressive fulfillment of his cock buried deep inside of you.

Tilting his hips, he pushed you further up against the tree, rutting into you without compassion so he could bury his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel each harsh brush of air as he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of your skin like a dying man gasping for breath. It tickled. It felt nice. 

“Smell so good, Red,” he groaned, continuing to shallowly thrust into you, fingers digging into your thighs. “Driving me wild.”

Past articulation or words, you simply moaned. A helpless, needy sound as your chin tilted further upwards. Baring your neck to him on instinct, an animal impulse of submission. Balthus laughed breathily, his thrusts picking up in speed. It still hurt, but you were getting used to his size, relaxing into it just as he’d said. The pinching ache was growing to be nothing more than background noise, like the dull numbness of your hands or the painful bruises he was digging into your thighs or-

Balthus bit your neck. You couldn't’ help the helpless yelp that tore from your throat, half pained and half surprised. His teeth _were_ sharp. No way they were fake, no more than he was wearing contacts. He surged inside you, his hips created a frenzied rhythm you couldn’t hope to match. Not that he needed you too. You didn’t even have the power to hold on. With your hands bound all you could do was take it. Take it as he sucked a mark over the indents his teeth had left in your skin, take it as he fucked you against the tree in the middle of the woods, take it when one of his hands left your thigh to rub against your clit.

You cried his name with such unmistakable fervor that it could only be a sound of pleasure, even if you felt as if you were half begging him. For what? To stop? To make you come? Balthus licked your neck and you shuttered, then his lips were on yours again and he swallowed any of the attempted pleas you might have been making. He tasted like you. It shouldn’t have been so erotic but it was, sending you spiraling and shaking apart as the pleasure crested beneath his cruel touch. You must have been trying to meet his thrusts, to push your hips against the finger rubbing against your clit. You must have been because when you came you couldn’t help but stutter, unable to keep time as bliss filled you white-hot and cinnamon and Balthus robbed you of breath and sense. The mark he’d left on your neck ached wickedly, a blunt and bloody pleasure that trailed straight to your core, making you tighten around him like a vice.

“Damn, Red,” Balthus swore in an involuntarily unsteady voice as he pulled his mouth from yours, his cock surging inside of you. Too much. As your orgasm faded, your limits were finally overloaded, sensory information attacking each nerve ending with a nearly violent jolt.

“Balthus, please-” you choked as he groaned. Growled, his body coiled up and tense against yours.

There was a second of perfectly reasonable thought when you were sure he was about to pull out. But he didn’t, slamming his hips against yours with another growling groan, burying himself deep to fill you with his cum. You made a sound of displeasure, unable to escape it or fight or move away or do anything. Just take it, your body pulsing and thrumming with need and pain and upset and liquor swirling through your blood and brain and making it impossible to really comprehend any of it. It seemed to last forever, his hips continuing to move in shallow thrusts as more and more of his release filled you. It didn’t feel real, almost. So hot, so heavy, so _much_.

The last few stuttering thrusts were firm. Conclusive. Already you could feel him softening. When he pulled out, you could feel the cum leaking from your abused hole, mixing with your own wetness. The slick sound was nauseating in the silence amid the heavy breathing, the pounding of your heartbeat. You whimpered at the loss. At the aching pain.

“We should get out of here,” Balthus said, nuzzling against your cheek in a way that could only be called tender. His skin was scorching.

“I need… To get back,” you responded haltingly, trying to find some coherency in your scattered thoughts. Oh, this was bad. “My friends…”

Balthus laughed, the sound rumbling in an almost pleasant way against you. “C’mon, Red, the night’s still young! Don’t tell me you’re all tired out already.”

You slid further down against the tree when he released your wrists, collapsing against his bare chest. He smelled so good, it was disorienting all over again.

“What are you?” you asked, barely able to manage a wince as feeling flooded back into your cold fingers. The question sounded nonsensical even to your own ears, like the unfounded fear of a child. But Balthus smiled and you knew why you felt the need to ask. No way those eyes were human, no way those teeth were normal. No way.

“Told you, pal. I’m the big bad wolf.” 


End file.
